


White Lies

by Idhreneth



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, Oral Sex, lots and lots of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 14:48:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/724508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idhreneth/pseuds/Idhreneth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Enjolras," Courfeyrac's voice became softer, gentler. "He loves you."</p>
<p>"I don't want him to."</p>
<p>"You don't have a say in that."</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Lies

Enjolras had not intended it to go this far. He did not have time for this. He knew he should never have invited Grantaire into his bed, but there was no going back now.

It was just a week ago when Enjolras had much more to drink than he usually did. Grantaire always eyed him, whenever they were in the same room, but tonight it seemed it was amplified. Enjolras did not know what possessed him, but he found himself hissing, "My bed, now," in Grantaire's ear and dragging the almost-incapacitated drunkard down the street and leading him into his apartment. Enjolras barely remembered anything, just flashes of what unfolded: Grantaire's tongue in his mouth, Grantaire's lips around his cock, falling asleep with Grantaire lying on top of him.

Enjolras had awoken the following morning naked, with a throbbing headache and Grantaire snoring next to him. He cursed himself for allowing this to happen, allowing himself to become distracted from the revolution. Grantaire's eyes opened, blue eyes bright despite sleep and a hangover. And Enjolras' heart sank. The look in Grantaire's eyes was, unmistakeably, love.

And Enjolras did not love him back.

So Enjolras had continued, business as usual, as if nothing had ever happened. Grantaire had not mentioned anything, but every once in a while, managed to catch Enjolras' eye, raising his eyebrows almost expectantly while Enjolras quickly looked away.

It was a week after Enjolras' lapse in judgement when Courfeyrac beckoned to him from across the cafe. Courfeyrac led him down the street, where they would be out of earshot, before abruptly stopping and spinning around to face Enjolras. "Tell me what happened."

"I don't-"

"Yes, you do. You, Grantaire. Last week." Courfeyrac cocked an eyebrow.

Enjolras groaned and looked away. "It was nothing."

"Not to Grantaire."

"Well, what do you propose I do about that?" Enjolras snapped, looking up again to glare.

"Stop ignoring him. Be nice to him. Enjolras," Courfeyrac's voice became softer, gentler. "He loves you."

"I don't want him to."

"You don't have a say in that."

And Courfeyrac thumped him on the shoulder reassuringly before walking away, leaving Enjolras to his thoughts.

***

Enjolras had done everything Courfeyrac had asked and more. He tried to be nice to Grantaire, but, regardless of how nice he was or not, he always gave Grantaire the attention he craved. He even slept with Grantaire several more times, coupled with the deepest guilt. Grantaire slept soundly, peacefully, unknowing of the turmoil that was bubbling inside of Enjolras.

When they built the barricades, Enjolras was far too excited to remember his promise to Courfeyrac. He ran around all day, all night, because this was going to work, it didn't even matter now if he died because he was going to go down in a blaze of glory, everyone would know his name -

A dream that came crashing down. No help would come. They were completely and utterly alone, and, worse, Enjolras was leading his friends to their deaths.

He stepped into an alleyway. He wanted to be alone, the feeling of dread and devastation creeping horribly into his stomach. Enjolras struggled to breathe, a single tear rolling down his cheek as he gasped. Though he did not notice it when he approached, Grantaire appeared at Enjolras' side, disheveled, bottle in hand, yet, somehow, looking more sober than Enjolras had ever seen him.

Wordlessly, he pushed Enjolras' head down gently, so that his forehead was resting on Grantaire's shoulder. Enjolras told himself he would not cry, but this show of affection from the man he had tried so hard to love was the final straw. He sobbed quietly, tears soaking through Grantaire's jacket. Grantaire was whispering, "Shh, Apollo, I know, I know," but he did not know, and he never would, if Enjolras could help it.

So Enjolras raised his head and kissed Grantaire as passionately as he possibly could, for, if they were going to die, what difference did it make? The bottle in Grantaire's hand fell to the pavement and shattered as Grantaire let go to weave his fingers into Enjolras' golden curls; Enjolras was slipping his tongue in between Grantaire's lips.

Because they were going to die.

Enjolras' lips moved down Grantaire's neck, and Grantaire threw his head back, murmuring, "Apollo, Apollo..." Enjolras pushed him against the wall, his hands all over Grantaire's body, feigning love that he did not feel as though he were an actor in the performance of his life; he might as well give Grantaire what he wanted, because it would be their very last. Enjolras knelt before the drunk, undoing the buttons on Grantaire's trousers, forcing himself to do this for Grantaire, because he needed this. Enjolras would not let Grantaire die knowing that Enjolras did not love him.

Grantaire was fully erect, a feat Enjolras never could have accomplished in that state of affairs. Enjolras took Grantaire's entire length in his mouth at once while the other groaned as quietly as he could. He could not afford to waste time, so Enjolras moved his lips quickly, methodically, as Grantaire fell apart against the wall, tugging at Enjolras' hair.

Enjolras did not know how much time had passed before Grantaire cried out softly and came, hard, into Enjolras' mouth. He forced himself to swallow every bit of come as Grantaire panted; Enjolras stood up and walked away wordlessly, thankful that Grantaire could not read his thoughts.

Enjolras wandered into a back alley and was violently sick; he heard the voices of his comrades at the barricade, his friends, his followers, who were living their last moments on Earth as their fearless leader sobbed, watching the mixture of bile and come run into the crevices of the pavement. It took all of Enjolras' might to stand up again, and to put on the bravest face he would ever wear.

***

Time passed more quickly than Enjolras had ever experienced, and he was staring down soldiers on the second floor of the cafe, defeated. So many had died, and for what?

A familiar pattern of footsteps came clattering up the stairs, and Enjolras looked up in shock; Grantaire was alive.

Grantaire, when he appeared, seemed surprised, too, that Enjolras was alive; he paused for a second before stepping between Enjolras and the soldiers to stand by the revolutionary's side.

"Do you permit it?" he whispered.

Enjolras nodded, unable to speak. He grabbed Grantaire's hand and squeezed, because, by God, he would make Grantaire's last moment as good as he could possibly manage.

Enjolras raised the red flag he still clutched in his hand.


End file.
